The Guy and Gal in 221B Drabbles
by LauralynShawn
Summary: Fem!John and guy!Sherlock. This is a set of drabbles following the events and adventures of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes: the funny, the cute, the not-so funny, and the not-so-cute.T for slight language. Now Complete!
1. New Flatmate, New Name

**Well, long at last. Here is my newest fic! This chapter is just a lead in on the drabbles and goes along with the first episode. It is mainly to establish their relationship and find out how John got her name. The other drabbles in the series will follow the events of the show, Sherlock, but it will not be going episode by episode, instead, they will just be snapshots of their life together. The cute, the funny, the not-so-cute and not-so-funny.**

**P.S. You do not have to read this chapter. It's kinda long, kind might be a tad but boring. PROCEDE to the next chapter if you would like. Or the third one. It's my fav so far. ;)**

**Oh, yes, I almost forgot about this.**

**I do not own Sherlock or any of its characters. :)**

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1. New Flatmate, New Name.

Jennifer H. Watson walked up to the address. 221B Baker Street. That's what the madman told her yesterday. She still couldn't believe she was actually going to do this. She was going to be some bloke's flatmate! And she didn't even know him! All she knew was that his name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was a genius.

He knew everything about her. He knew about her therapist, and how she served in Afghanistan. He knew about Harry and Harry's drinking habits. He called her limp psychosomatic, so he got that wrong, but still, he knew all of that by looking at her.

Jennifer knocked on the door, and the madman opened it. He looked exactly the same as the day before. He was tall and lanky with a mop of curly dark hair, and there was a fire in his eyes. A smile darted across his face as he opened the door for her.

"Come on in, Dr. John Watson." he said quickly. Jennifer stood there for a moment. Did he just call her John? She shook her head. No, a genius like himself, he wouldn't make that big of a mistake. Jennifer smiled and headed in after him. An elderly woman met her there with open arms.

"This is Ms. Hudson," Sherlock's rich voice said. "She gave me a great deal on the flat."

"I'd do anything for you, Sherlock." Ms. Hudson said, flushing slightly. Jennifer smiled again as the landlady led her up the stairs. Jennifer hobbled up the stairs, leaning on her cane. Her damn leg was acting up even more today. It ached. Her leg ached, and her shoulder ached, her head ached, ugh, her whole body ached. And she still felt the hot flashes coming and going from the previous night's nightmare. She let out a sigh. At least the flat was nice.

It was filled with papers and dishes...and what appeared to be chemistry sets, and oh God, is that a skull? Jennifer blinked. It was a skull.

"What do you think, John?"

Jennifer whipped her head around. Sherlock took off his long coat and threw it on a chair and pulled off his navy blue scarf. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Do you like the flat?"

"Oh, yes." Jennifer said quickly. She was hearing things again. "It's...um, it's very nice. And I'm sure when it's cleaned up, it looks even better."  
Sherlock looked like he had taken a blow, and Jennifer realized that this was the normal state of his living conditions. He began to pick up stacks of paper and move them to other areas.

"I'm sure I can straighten up a bit."

"It's lovely." Jennifer said.

"Mhmm." Sherlock mumbled, his attention drawn to the curtain. Jennifer watched him, not listening to what Ms. Hudson was saying. Sherlock's voice broke through her haze.

"There's been a forth. And it's different." Fourth. Fourth what? Damnit, she should have been listening. A man burst through the door. He was wearing a nice suit and his greying hair was combed nicely. He smiled at Jennifer, but turned his attention quickly to Sherlock.

"What's different about this one?" Sherlock asked.

"You know how they don't leave notes?" The man asked. Sherlock nodded his head slightly. "Well, this one did."

"I'll follow you." Sherlock said simply. The man nodded and walked out the door. With a clap of his hands, Sherlock leapt off the ground and let out a whoop.

Jennifer couldn't believe it. This man was laughing. He was like a kid on Christmas, and it was all about another suicide, if Jennifer was putting the pieces of the puzzle together correctly. Sherlock grabbed Ms. Hudson and planted a kiss on her cheek then ran off. Jennifer stood there. He had left. Just like that. There was nothing else. She collapsed into a somewhat clear chair and tried to position her leg into a more comfortable spot. Ms. Hudson stood over her and smiled at the door where Sherlock had been.

"He's like my husband, always up and about. I know your kind. You're more of the sitting down type. I'll go get you a cuppa while you rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" Jennifer yelled. "Sorry, I am so sorry." She really was, but she was not the sitting down type. She hated having to sit and hobble and wobble at a snail's pace everywhere. She wanted to run again. She wanted to run and feel...she wanted to feel the adrenaline again. That's why she took the flat. Jennifer sensed something from Sherlock. He was dangerous. Her life would be full of adrenaline with him, but he left her. She was wrong.

"It's just..." Jennifer tapped her leg with her cane to prove her point. Ms. Hudson nodded her head.

"I understand, sweetie, I've got a hip." And she walked off. Jennifer sat back and sighed into her hand. The sound of a slamming door startled her. Sherlock was standing there. Jennifer stood up.

"John." He said. There it was again. Jennifer pushed it aside.

"What?"

"You're an army doctor." He stated.

"Yes." she replied, even though it wasn't a question.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked, looking her up and down. Jennifer took some of her weight off her cane as she stood up, trying to appear taller.

"Very good." she said hesitantly.

"Seen any injuries, then? Violent deaths?" he asked, getting closer to her. Jennifer couldn't help but feel that she was being tested. Of course she had seen violent deaths. She had seen men's limbs blown apart. She had to perform an amputation in the middle of the desert during a battle and lost her patient. She had killed people herself.

"Well, yes." Jennifer replied. She licked her lips. The deaths kept replaying in front of her eyes. She hated having to watch them die, but she...oh, she hated admitting this. While she was out in the field, she felt a purpose. She was running around in the chaos and felt at ease. Now, they stripped her of that chaos and she had no clue what to do.

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Yes. Far too much. Enough for a lifetime." she said. She meant it. She had seen enough death. But she needed the chaos. She wanted it.

"Want to see some more, John?"

"Oh, God, yes!" Jennifer said. The fire in his eyes brightened, and he turned to run out the door. She followed him.

* * *

Jennifer sat next to Sherlock in the cab. He had not given her much information at all about where they were going, but he did tell her more about him. He called himself a "consulting detective". It was obvious this man was arrogant. But, he had gotten so much right. Almost everything about her.

"So, did I get anything wrong, John?"

"Well," Jennifer said, opening her door and clambering out. The police cars' lights were still flashing around the yellow tape surrounding the building. "Harry is an alcoholic, and we don't get along well." she said. "Harry and Clara broke up three months ago." Sherlock looked pleased.

"I don't usually get it completely right."

"Harry is short for Harriet." Jennifer said with a smug sound in her voice. Sherlock clenched his fist.

"Harriet. You have a sister, not a brother."

"Oh, and Sherlock-"

"A sister!" Sherlock hissed through his teeth. "There's always something."

"Sherlock!" Jennifer said loudly.

"What, John?" he asked.

"My name is Jennifer, not John." Jennifer said exasperated. Why was he doing that? Sherlock started laughing and held up the tape for her. What? Jennifer tried to press the matter, but Sherlock had moved on. They studied the body of the woman, and Sherlock, as the pattern continued from their first encounter, was brilliant. She couldn't help but saying so.

"John?"

"Hmm?" she replied. The woman was cold; her limbs were rigid. She was dead. Jennifer hadn't seen anyone dead in a long time.

"Her coat is slightly damp; she's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp too; she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff." Sherlock rambled on rather quickly, messing with his phone. Jennifer just stared at the body. Why couldn't she see all of those tiny, seemingly insignificant details?

"That's fantastic." she breathed. The other man, Lestrade, his name was.

"You do know you say those things out loud, right?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh right, sorry, I'll shut up." Jennifer said quickly.

"No...it's fine." Sherlock said.

It was the most eventful night that she had in a long, long time. She encountered Sherlock's greatest enemy, that turned out to be his brother, Mycroft, she texted a serial killer, Sherlock got into a battle of wits with a serial killer, and Jennifer had then killed said serial killer.

The best part was: she had been running. She ran without her cane all throughout London and up stairs, and she was able to shoot a handgun without shaking. And through that, Sherlock had proved that her limp was indeed psychosomatic.

He really was a know it all.

Sherlock opened the door to the Chinese restaurant for Jennifer. She walked in and was once again bombarded by the manager.

"Oh, Sherlock!" he proclaimed. "I see you finally got yourself a little companion."

"I'm not…I'm not…" Jennifer had been expecting for the guy to call her Sherlock's girlfriend. Everyone else had. She still couldn't see it. Did she just look like some love struck girl? Calling him fantastic and brilliant probably didn't help. Even Mycroft had made a joke about the two of them getting married by the end of the week.

"I'm…I'm John-Jenny-Jennifer." Jennifer corrected herself. "I'm Jennifer Watson." Sherlock snorted. that was a first. Tonight was just full of firsts. They sat down in the practically empty restaurant and...well, they just sat there. Sherlock was staring at her. She hated that. Jennifer sat there, unmoving. She wasn't going to squirm and let him win. Instead, she stared back into his eyes.

"Sherlock. My name is not John." Her voice was stern.

"And yet I called you John ten times before you said anything about it, and I continued to call you John all night until you just called yourself John. That means it only took calling you John thirty three times before your brain accepted it as a new name. You started responding to it by the twelfth time." Sherlock looked sly.

"You did that on purpose." Jennifer breathed.

"Yes I did, it was an experiment. I do those quite often" Sherlock said, crossing his hands.

"You were messing with my mind!" Jennifer exclaimed. She sat back and laughed. He had gotten in her head and messed with her. That was so not cool! That was very rude! And yet, she never second guessed it. How had he done that? Sherlock was staring at her still.

"Was that not good?" he asked. Jennifer kept laughing.

"That...was brilliant."

"Really?"

"Yes." Jennifer said again. "But never pull an experiment on me again without my permission."

"Alright." Sherlock said and rested his head on his hand staring out the window. After they ate, Sherlock grabbed his coat and thanked the manager.

"Come along, John. It's late. And I think I left my eyeballs in the microwave."

"You what?!" Jennifer, well, John said, chasing after Sherlock. Ever since that, her "new" name stuck. Alongside Sherlock Holmes she ran as John H. Watson.

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**Chapter 1 done! I hoped you enjoyed it, and now onwards for more giggles and snorts, or so I hope. I will no longer have author notes on each chapter, just to make it flow better. If you want more information on John and her life as Jennifer and about how I got the ideas for each chapter, feel free to check out my profile! **

**Now, if you liked it, please follow for more chapters to come!**


	2. The Case of the Missing Beer

2. Case of the Missing Beer

The "glamour" of living with the "great" Sherlock Holmes soon wore off. It took exactly one day. That's when John learned that Sherlock Holmes was a hard man to keep happy. He had to constantly have a case, and even when he did get a case, he would quickly fall into what she named the Seven Stages of Sherlock. John still loved being his flatmate of course, but she realized just how flawed this man was. He invaded her personal space, he left heads in the refrigerator, he didn't contribute to the rent at all, and he left experiments in the kitchen sink every other hour. There were some times when John wished she could have one day that was normal.

Or at least an evening, she could really use an evening off. Her life had just gotten even more cramped since she took up a full time job, and all she wanted was a beer.

That's all she wanted. Honestly. One beer. After falling asleep on the job, and yelling at an inanimate object, one beer did not seem like much to ask.

John slammed the door shut, and made her way up the stairs, practically dragging her body along. The sounds of Sherlock's violin was echoing from his room. Hopefully he wouldn't bother her. She just wanted to enjoy her beer and a bit of crap Telly to unwind. She would like something she didn't really need to watch, like the news. Now wasn't the time for Doctor Who.

John opened the fridge and sighed relief. No heads, no toes, and no eyeballs. Either Sherlock finally listened to her pleas, or Ms. Hudson had thrown them all out. She guessed the latter. John shifted what little food they had around and chucked an old take out box of Chinese. She really needed to go shopping. It would be nice if Sherlock could get off his high horse and buy a few groceries. Or at least some damn beers!

John rubbed her temples and stepped back. That's when she saw it out of the corner of her eye. It was a tall glass of the wonderful yellow, alcoholic beverage. Why had Sherlock put it in a glass? She hated it when he did that.

How many times did she have to tell him to either drink the whole thing, or give the rest to her to finish? She hated flat beers. Oh well, John was desperate tonight. She grabbed the glass from the back of the fridge and sat down on her chair. The telly was soon blaring all thoughts out of her mind.

This was nice. This was relaxing. John raised the glass to her lips and took a long sip.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" she yelled as the contents of her mouth spewed everywhere. Sherlock waltzed into the room, barely noticing her.

"Oh, there you are, John. I need a favor from you."

"Sherlock, what was in that glass?"

"Can I borrow some of your urine? It's not male, but it will have to do in my experiment. I'm trying to see..."His voice trailed off. John stared at him, frantically wiping her mouth on her jumper. Wait.

They both looked at each other.

"John." Sherlock's voice was its same natural level. "Did you just consume my urine?"

His. Urine? John gagged.

"You! You left your...your piss in the fridge?" she bellowed. Sherlock raised his hands in defence.

"How else was I going to keep it at the right temperature?"  
"You left your piss in the fridge." John repeated. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, I did."

"I..." She sat back down and began massaging her head. "I drank your piss."

"Finally. The answer to my second question. Now, about my first."

"What first question?" John sighed. She tried to keep the laughter out of her voice. He did not need to know she found this all hilarious. He needed to be punished. John bit her lip to keep the chuckles in her mouth.

"Can I borrow some of your urine?" he asked. John couldn't help it. She started laughing and couldn't stop. Sherlock just stared at her. "Is that a yes?" John let her laughter die down slowly.

She stared at him. She did need to go to the bathroom. But...that would be helping him with his experiment. Sherlock looked at her with those damn puppy dog eyes. She sighed, knowing she could never say no to him.

"Do you promise to label your experiments in the fridge and elsewhere?"  
"I promise." Sherlock said.

"Hell." John cursed. "Give me a cup or something."

"Yes! Thank you, John!" Sherlock was happy. He was giddy about getting her pee.

"I'm just peeing in a cup for you, not saying yes to marriage." John said, groaning as she got up. Sherlock stopped his little victory dance thing and stared at her.

"Joke?" he asked. God, sometimes the man was so stupid.

"Yes, Sherlock, that was a joke. Now, hurry. I've got to pee."


	3. Seven Stages of Sherlock

1.) Joy:

Sherlock Holmes could be the happiest of people at times. Those times were when other people were dead and he had to solve their murder. It's not that he liked them being dead, no, John liked to think that he really did have a heart. He just needed to work his brain. With Sherlock's great intellect, he could not stand doing nothing. Sherlock Holmes did not lie around and relax. He can't even sit through the James Bond movies, which John finds to be a crime.

His happiest moments are right after a crime. Those are when he would take John out to dinner and actually eat, and he would laugh with John and carry on almost human conversations. Sadly, Stage One lasts no longer than one night.

2.) Depression

The following morning or night after Stage One, Sherlock Holmes goes into a deep depression. This depression is unlike most people's. He throws things, he yells at the telly for no reason, and nothing John can do makes him feel any happier. This is usually the worst Stage because Sherlock will start begging for his drugs. John hates seeing him so close to tears, on his knees in his dressing gown, but she always says no. This stage usually lasts for one day, but can sometimes go for two.

3.) Boredom

Following Depression, Sherlock Holmes gets bored. This is when Sherlock is the most dangerous. He shoots the wall, performs experiments on anything and anyone he can, and he begins to ask all the strange questions that make John feel uncomfortable.

WARNING: When Sherlock Holmes is bored, do not suggest anything that he could do, such as getting a real job. John has had to listen to his rants that go on for hours after doing that. Learn from her mistakes.

4.) Anger

Stage 4 sometimes runs into Stage 5. Sherlock Holmes is not fun to be around when he is angry. He typically yells at John for no reason, and even Ms. Hudson on his really bad days. The worst thing is that John will yell back, and it can sometimes result in a physical fight. He also gets very jittery and aimlessly walks around the flat all day. That drives John mad the most. Walking back and forth and back and forth. Sometimes, he will even talk to himself in different voices. It's quite strange.

WARNING: If Sherlock is in Stage 4 whilst John is on her period, WATCH OUT. The two start screaming quite easily, and the police has been called down on more than one occasion to ask about noise complaints from the neighbors.

5.) Self-Loathing

Perhaps this is the saddest of the Seven Stages. In Stage 5 Sherlock falls into another round of depression, but this one is aimed at himself. He whines about being so smart and not being able to use it, and he whines about being surrounded by idiots. (No offense, John) This usually leads to John trying to comfort Sherlock with kind words and cups of tea, but after Sherlock refuses to hear her words, and continues to whine, John begins to yell at Sherlock and they once more get into a verbal row.

WARNING: It is best to leave Sherlock alone during this stage. If not, it will always end up in a fight. That is what Sherlock is looking for, someway to use his brain. And arguing with John is the only thing he can find.

6.) More Boredom.

Once Sherlock pulls himself out of his pity party, he goes into another bout of boredom. This one is usally the same as the last, but since he is nearing his verge to break down and look for a new case, Sherlock is typically nicer and a bit more friendlier.

WARNING: In this Stage, Sherlock tends to ask even more "strange" questions that raise awkward conversations.

7.) Curiosity

At the end of the week, or however long it lasts, Sherlock will finally break down and start looking through his website for a case that is "good" enough for him. This stage is nice for John because she sees that he is trying, but it is also annoying because she sees him crush many people's hopes of him helping just because they aren't difficult enough for him. That's where John comes in as his manager. She helps break the news to younger children, and evens goes out to lunch with the other ones. Sherlock is the brains, and John brings in the humanity.

*Once Sherlock finally finds a case, he solves it, and he goes back to Stage 1 for it to happen all over again.*


	4. More Boredom

4. More Boredom.

This is what happens when Sherlock Holmes falls into another one of his bouts of boredom.

John Watson pulled herself out of bed. Her short hair was sticking up in every which way, and no matter how much product she used, it would not lay down flat. Today was not going to be good. A high pitch squeal met her ears. Yup. Bored Sherlock+Bad Hair=Great Day. She pulled a weird jumper from her closet and threw it on over her tank top. She wasn't going anywhere today. It was a no bra day. Sherlock would notice, but Sherlock noticed everything.

Everything.

John walked down her chairs and shoved some dishes off part of the table so she could have somewhere to eat. Sherlock came in wearing nothing but a sheet. She knew that he was wearing nothing from a previous experience. Sherlock was even more upset the recent days, ever since The Woman left. He never admitted it, never would, but John knew that Sherlock was a wreck without her. It kind of hurt for John to know that she meant so much to him, and they barely knew each other, but John also liked knowing that Sherlock was human. She forgot that every now and then.

With a bowl of cereal, John sat down and began to eat. The cereal was stale, and the milk was close to expiring, but she didn't care. Sherlock sat down across from her.

Munch, munch. John continued chewing her food.

"John."

"Mmm?"

"Have you had sex in the past month?" Sherlock asked.

John spit out her cereal. The chewed up flakes and milk went everywhere.

"Why the HELL would you ask that?"

"Hmmm." was all Sherlock said. "Have you been feeling stressed?" John sighed and decided to go along with Sherlock's question game. She knew it was just easier that way.

"With you? Always."

"Have you been taking any form of birth control?"

"No."

"Any eating disorder that I do not know of?"

"I'm anorexic." John said, shoveling more cereal into her mouth. Sherlock gaped. "Joke."

"Any illegal substances?"

"Heroin addict."

"That is not a funny joke, John."

"What is this all about?" John finally asked. A migraine was forming right behind her eyes. Ugh. Today was not her day.

"I'm worried about you." Sherlock said. Worried? Well, that was a first.

"Why are you worried about me?"

"You're period is late by two days."

John was glad she had swallowed before she spoke. He even knew her cycle!

"Sherlock," John sighed. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm a _doctor,_ Sherlock. I'm fine."

"So, you aren't pregnant?"

"No."

"Good." Sherlock said. "Good."

"Break your violin strings?" John asked after a minute of dead silence.

"Yes. I need you to go to the store."

"Go for yourself!"

"We also need groceries. The milk is rancid."

"Go get them for yourself!"

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I'm doing an experiment." Sherlock said. John rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"NO."

"What?"

"_No_ experiments. _No_ shooting the walls. _You_ are coming shopping with _me_."

"But, John!" Sherlock whined. God, he was such a prat at times!

"No buts! Now, get dressed." John ordered. Sherlock sat there, unamused, and crossed his arms.

"No." That stubborn bastard. John smiled. She could be stubborn too.

"Fine. Go in your sheet."

"People might talk." Sherlock said. He knew that John hated all the insinuations going around about them. Walking out with him barely clothed and her disheveled would not be the strangest thing they've done. John shrugged her shoulders.

"People do little else."

At least they were no longer talking about her late period.


	5. John's Gay?

5. John's Gay?

Simone was a great guy. He was kind, and sweet, and smart. He wasn't overly smart either, or a rub-it-in your face kind of intelligent. He was a primary school teacher, and he was perfect. Except he wanted to settle down and have a family. John was not entirely on board with that, but hey, he liked her. And he didn't know Sherlock. That was a plus.

Her phone rang. What was that noise? She had forgotten what her ringtone was like from all the texting lately.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Jennifer!"

Jennifer?-Oh yeah, Jennifer. She forgot that Simone refused to call her John. She was Jennifer to him.

"Hi, Simone, how's it going?"

"Great. Are you ready for our big date tonight?"

"I'm almost ready. I'll meet you at the restaurant."

"I..I can pick you up." he said, "You know, drive by, meet your flatmate?"

"Actually, my flatmate isn't here right now." John lied. She did not want him to meet Sherlock and everything go down the drain.

"Oh, that's too bad. Next time?"

"Uh...sure!" John tried to keep her voice upbeat. They said goodbye, and John fell back on her bed in a huff. She had nothing to wear. Oh, the problems of being a woman. Sometimes, she just wished she were a man. It would make life so much simpler. And maybe people would stop talking about her and Sherlock "shagging" on the kitchen counter. It was disgusting. She finally decided on her favorite oatmeal jumper and a pair of tighter fitting jeans. She smoothed her hair down and put on some mascara and red lipstick. Time to go downstairs, she told herself.

John skipped down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Sherlock sat at the table messing with John's computer. Sherlock didn't even look up from the computer.

"Who's the special lady?" he asked. John stopped in her tracks.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She never knew what he was talking about these days. Somedays he would drone on and on about random, uninteresting things. He sounded like a broken record.

"You are going on a date." Way for him to change the topic.

"Yes, I am."

"This one is different. Is it the other doctor?"

"No. The school teacher."

"You must find a better taste in women, John." Sherlock said, not even missing a beat. John blinked three times. Count to ten, she was always told. She needed to get her yelling under control.

"Why," she took a deep breath. "Why would I ever need to find a better taste in _women_?"

"I am being honest with you, John, isn't that what you want? The women you are going out with are not your type. They are too stable, and too...well, boring. You need to find someone that compliments you. And besides, they're all idiots."

"Sherlock."

"I know, I call everyone idiots, but they are idiots even on normal people standards. None of them ever like me either! And I saved one's life!"

"Sherlock!" John yelled. It always seemed to be her only way of getting his attention.

"What?"

"I'm not gay."

"What do you mean, 'I'm not gay'?"

"I am not gay. I do not like women. I am heterosexual."

"I am no idiot, John! You do not have to talk to me like I am a child" It's because you are one, John thought. He was a child sometimes. A big baby that constantly had to be entertained.

"Well, you thought I liked women!"

"It's obvious. You're hair is short cropped and screams masculinity. You only wear jumpers because they accentuate your already broad shoulders. Plus, you were dating that one girl."

"Sarah?"

"Yeah, her."

"She was my _friend_. We were _friends_. I have short hair because it's easier to maintain that way, and I wear jumpers because they are comfortable."

Sherlock sat there for a moment and finally put down his newspaper. "You are not gay?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, Sherlock. And before you ask, no I do not like you."

"I was not going to ask that."

"Goodbye, Sherlock, and do not follow me on my date!"

"But...John! Wait! I'm bored!"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" John harrumphed and turned towards Sherlock. She really needed to go meet up with Simone.

"I'm bored; you want to have fun. I am suggesting that I accompany you while you have fun. If that is considered a date, then yes, I am asking you on a date."

"No. You are not."

"I am trying to be nice."

"You are trying to keep me away from _my_ date!"

"I don't like him!"

"You thought he was a girl."

"Irrelevant." Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.

"Irrelevant?! God, Sherlock, you barely know anything about me and we've been living together for what, a year now?"

"Eight months and twenty four days." he replied without blinking.

"Right. I'm going out now, bye Sherlock! And do not forget about our dinner party with Greg tomorrow!"

With that John grabbed her coat and ran out the door. Sherlock stood there for a moment and eventually walked away to go take his boredom out on some poor inanimate object.

"Greg? I thought her boyfriend's name was...Bob, or something."


	6. Fights

**Sorry about this. I said no more author notes, but I just wanted to say thank you all for the favorites, alerts, and reviews! It makes me want to write more and more!**

* * *

6. Fights.

John and Sherlock fought. A lot. And it wasn't always screaming at one another and slamming door fighting, but sometimes it was glaring at one another for hours on end, both too stubborn to apologize for something that did not really matter. Other times, their fights were just petty and trivial, but it was fun to banter back and forth.

This day was not the latter. Greg Lestrade rubbed his fingers through his greying hair. It was getting even more grey with Sherlock around more often. He really wished the two would stop fighting over whatever it was and just make up already. Honestly, this was getting to be too much.

Sherlock was quite. Too quiet. Lestrade wanted to punch the man for once, not because he talking, but because he wasn't. It was torture. John stood on the other side of the room, staring down at the dead body, her strong jaw set in stone. Oh, god. They better not start talking through him like two teenagers.

Silence. Lestrade looked down at his watch. It had only been one minute. One measly minute, yet it felt like hours. God, this was awful.

Finally, John spoke. "It seems that the woman died of asphyxiation. Her neck is broken and there are multiple contusions on her arms and legs. Her body temperature is only-"

"John, shut up." Sherlock ordered. Lestrade took in a deep breath. Sherlock had, on more than one occasion, told John to shut up, but never had he said it like that. Sherlock was pissed. John was _pissed_. And Lestrade hated it when she was angry even more then when Sherlock was.

"Make me." she snapped, her gaze turning towards Sherlock. Lestrade was still holding his breath. The tension was awful. Neither person said anything. Perhaps he shouldn't have called in the Consulting Detective today. Then Anderson had to speak.

"So much sexual tension, my, my, Sherlock. Having girlfriend problems?"

Both John and Sherlock's gaze directed towards Anderson. Lestrade stepped aside, afraid of where this was all heading.

"Shut up!" They both yelled together. And that was it. The fuse had blown.

"I can't deal with it Sherlock, not anymore! You go around the house and you moan and groan and complain about how awful your life is while I have to work! I thought we were flatmates, I thought we shared the rent!"

"I thought you were not as much an idiot as the rest, John, but apparently I was wrong about that too." Sherlock snapped. Ooo, Lestrade winced. That was a low blow.

"And I thought a genius like you wouldn't be so much of a prat!"

"Oh, name calling now, John! I did not think that you were so childish."

"Me?! Childish?! You are the one that keeps running my boyfriends off!" John was screaming now, fury shaking in her hands. Lestrade let out a sigh. So, that's what this was about.

"They were not right for you."

"Simone was a great guy, Sherlock! There was no need to scare the Hell out of him by shooting in his direction!"

"I was bored."

"Bored? Do not get me started on your bouts of boredom! I am_ sick_ of it! Can't you for once act like a normal human being?"

"Some people would like to argue that I am _not_ a human being." Sherlock had somehow managed to keep his voice at that same damn level it was always at. Perhaps he wasn't human.

"Yeah, and they're damn right. No human being could ever be as selfish or childish." With that John stormed out of the room. Sherlock stood there for a moment, and then continued his work on the body. Lestrade did not know what to do. Was the other man really just going to stand there while John walked away?

She was the best thing that ever happened to Sherlock...and Lestrade. Without her, Sherlock was even more insane and hard to follow, at least she was able to bring some humanity to him and make it a bit easier to work alongside one another. Lestrade did not want things to go back to how they were before John showed up. He gingerly walked towards Sherlock.

"I believe you should go talk to her." He said quietly. Sherlock looked up at him.

"Why?" Why? Was the man that stupid?

"Because you have obviously hurt her feelings."

"No, John has yelled about that plenty of times before. She'll be fine in a moment." Plenty of times before? God, these two needed counseling. Flatmate counseling. Was that even a thing? He had no clue.

"Sherlock, you need to talk to her."

"About what?"

"I..." Greg really had no clue what to say. The door opened and slammed shut. There was John Watson, seeming perfectly normal. Greg had to admit she was good at that: seeming so calm and rational when all she wanted to do was bash Sherlock's brains in.

"Done?" she asked simply. Her arms were down by her sides and tense. Her entire body was tense. She was standing at perfect attention, her back straight, head held high, feet together. The soldier was still in her.

"Yes, I believe I am." Sherlock turned to Greg while he removed his gloves. "Boyfriend. Late thirties caucasian with a black eye and bad twitch in his left hand." Lestrade just gaped. They had just interrogated her boyfriend...he said he got the bruiser from a bad night at the pub.

"Oh, come on." Anderson said with a groan. "Do you honestly expect us to believe that you got all of that from just a dead body."

Sherlock stared at Anderson like he was the biggest idiot in the world. Anderson laughed.

"You're a freak! You just made all of that-" Anderson was cut off. Lestrade barely had time to process what had happened. All he knew was one second Anderson was being his usual prick self and the next he was lying on the ground, whining about a broken nose. Blood was gushing down the front of his shirt. John stood over him, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

"Let's go, Sherlock."

"She punched me!" Anderson wailed. "She punched me!"

"Anderson-" Greg said. "Shut up." Anderson was now gaping at the DI. He nodded his head towards Sherlock and John as they walked out of the room. He could hear them talking to each other.

"You didn't need to do that." He heard Sherlock say. John probably smiled, he bet she did.

"Only _I_ get to call you names."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I do not know, that seemed like the right thing to say." There was silence for a second. Were they just standing outside of the door?

"The correct answer was, 'I'm sorry for running off your boyfriends, doing experiments on you in your sleep, ruining your favorite jumper, and being a complete child at times." John said. Lestrade fought back a laugh as he instructed one of the other men to get a warrant for the victim's boyfriend. There was a few more moments of silence.

"Sarcasm?" Sherlock asked.

"Nope."

"Thought so. Hungry?"

"Starving."

Those two. Lestrade would never understand them.


	7. Shopping

**Thanks again for all the lovely reviews, favorites, and followers! Sorry this update took me so long. I hope I can get the others on here in a much quicker pace. Just to warn all you readers, there will be twelve chapters in all for this fic, so five more to go!**

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7. Shopping

"Why are you following me to the store?" John asked. The Consulting Detective was right beside her, sulking as he walked down the street.

"Bored." he said.

One word answers. That's what kind of day it was, hm? Maybe it was more than that. Sherlock barely left her side since their first encounter with Jim Moriarty. He could be worried about her safety. (Or he could be hoping that Moriarty would try to kidnap her again, and the two geniuses could play some more) But did he honestly have to follow her on this outing? It was embarrassing enough.

Way too embarrassing. God, just thinking about it made her want to blush. It was worse that Sherlock was being silent.

"So, want to watch a film tonight?"

Sherlock gave her The Look. No, it wasn't _The Look_: the one that made her feel like such a moron as the excitement raged in his eyes. No, it was The Look: the one that sang, 'Why on Earth would I do that?'

"Didn't you like the Bond night we had?"

"Awful." Still one-word answers. Great. John stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"Ever seen Star Wars?"

"Is that the one with the character you said resembles me?"

Haha, Spock. John smiled. They could watch that...no, Sherlock would immediately see her crush on Kirk and ask her strange questions about why 'normal' people fall for people that they will never have a chance to even talk to.

"Heh, no. Star Wars. You know, 'Luke, I'm your father?" she tried. Sherlock gave her a puzzled look.

"John? Are you feeling alright?"

"It's a line from the movie."

"Oh."

They fell back into silence as John turned a street corner. Why did she decide to walk and not take a cab?

"So..."

"Your attempts at making conversation are rather disappointing."

"I don't see you trying." She said. Sherlock smiled.

"Where are we going?"

"You tell me." She said with a smile back.

Sherlock loved when she played Deduction games with him. He had been trying to get her to play Cluedo again for weeks. That wasn't happening. But, she would ask him questions, or spot a random stranger and have him tell her everything about them. He enjoyed it, and it kept him entertained.

"Your heart rate is accelerated despite the cooler weather which tells me you are nervous. Plus, you have been constantly keeping your hands occupied, putting them in your pockets, fiddling with change, smoothing your hair, etcetera. Another indication that what we are about to do is something that will bring you embarrassment."

He took a deep breath and continued.

"You already informed me that we are going shopping, but not for groceries. No, there's no reason to be embarrassed about food. Besides, we aren't near the grocery store. We are near the clothes shops."

Was that a blush in Sherlock's cheek? No, nope, it had to be a trick of the light.

"Shopping for underclothes is no reason to be ashamed, John." Sherlock said. John laughed.

"Wrong."

"Wrong?"

She loved it when he was wrong. He always acted like it was impossible.

"You were not even listening this morning, were you?" she asked him. Sherlock shurgged. "Well, Greg invited us to the Yard's annual party."

"Who's Greg?"

"DI Lestrade." John said. "It also so happens to be his birthday."

"Why are we going?"

"Because he is our friend."

"He's your friend."

"That's why _I'm_ going. You can stay home."

"Will Anderson be there?"

"He might be, but he won't come near me...or you." John said. She stifled a laugh. Sherlock let one out.

"What are we shopping for, then?" he asked as they entered a women's shop.

"Dress." John said quietly.

To Be Continued


	8. Shopping Continued

8. Shopping, Continued

This was awful. It was hands down the worst shopping day in all of John's life. Even buying a prom dress was better than this, and she had a father that would not allow her to show barely any skin.

Sherlock was just so frustrating.

Everything she put on was wrong. Each and every dress that she had to ask him to zip up (which was bad enough), she had to listen to him rant about why it was wrong.

At first, they were long explanations.

"John, it's obvious that your shoulders are wider than your hips. You want a dress silhouette that will complement your body, not make you look even more top-heavy." That earned him a scowl from John. "That neckline does just that. It goes against you."

After a winded explanation on three dresses, they became to get less winded, and more blunt.

"That's hideous."

"Ugh. Print?" Again, another scowl. Some people liked fun print.

"You are not shopping for outrageous holiday jumpers."

Slowly, they became sarcastic questions.

"_That_ color?"

"_That_ length?"

"Seriously?"

Shortly after that, Sherlock fell back into one word answers.

"No."

And-

"No."

And so very often he would say-

"No."

John was getting ready to tear her hair out, and she almost did when he fell into just raising his eyebrow at whatever she tried.

"Sherlock." She said slowly, deliberately. In a public store was no place to get into a row. "We have been here for three hours. Please, instead of telling me what is wrong with every dress I put on, suggest what I should try."

Sherlock looked at her like he had not been listening to a word she said. John told herself (as always) to count to ten, slowly, and take deep breaths. She did not want to yell at him in a store.

She opened her eyes, and Sherlock was gone. Vanished. Puff. Hell, she wasn't even sure if he was coming back.

With Sherlock, who knew?

But, he did come back, and John had to curse herself for asking him to help her. He brought back a simple, long black dress. John snatched it out of his hands and went into the dressing room one last time. She really hated shopping.

The dress was sleeveless, which she hated, but she had to admit, it looked nice. It hugged her chest, but flared out at the bottom in soft waves. It made her shoulders seem not so soldier-like. The only problem was that it showed her scar.

It was right on her left shoulder. An indented red scar from where the bullet entered. She hated looking at it. She hated others looking at it. Maybe this dress was not the best. But, it did look good on her. Sighing, John took the dress back off and slipped into her much more comfortable clothes. Jeans and a jumper.

Sherlock gave her a puzzled look as she walked out.

"I'm getting the dress."

"Which one?"

"The one you picked." she mumbled. She was tired of shopping. Tired of trying on dresses. This one would have to do.


	9. The Party

9. The Party

John was suddenly feeling very self conscious. Everyone was staring at her. Everyone was watching as she entered the room with Sherlock standing so close. They started snickering, and she knew it was about some very "original" jokes about her and him. Molly was looking so sweet and lovely in a corner. John tried to stop watching her, but she really did look so sad. Her "boyfriend" Jim must have broke up with her. Sherlock just stood there, following John around as she said hello to Greg and wished him a happy birthday. Sherlock really was ignorant.

"Go." she instructed him.

"Go and do what?"

"Go and ask Molly to dance with you."

Sherlock gave her another one of his famous looks. Again, ignorant. He couldn't see that the girl was in love with him if John wrote it in blood at a crime scene. Okay, maybe she was getting a tad bit morbid lately. Tonight she was just going to need to sit down and watch some chick flick, no matter what Sherlock said.

"Just go as her. Now, before I hurt you."

"You'd never hurt me." he said back. John rolled her eyes and gave him a push on the back towards Molly. She sighed in relief as she watched him awkwardly ask her. Molly of course jumped in joy and started to dance with the much taller man. Could Sherlock look any more put out? She laughed, and then jumped when someone stepped up behind her.

"Good evening, John."

She turned around to see Mycroft just standing there.

"You can't just sneak up on people. It's rude."

"My apologies, may I have this dance?"

John looked him up and down for a moment, trying to see his point in doing this. She gave up and let him lead her in a simple waltz. John picked up on his movements easily.

"My, where did you learn to dance?" he asked.

"Sherlock."

"I should have known." he said and smiled that rather creepy smile that just made John want to punch him and tell him to get to the point.

"John, I fear my brother is in trouble."

"He's always in trouble."

"I believe he is in serious danger." he repeated, his voice growing deeper. John tried not to let the worry pass through her eyes.

"He'll be fine. He always is."

"He is matched intellectually on this battle. Do you know what happens when two object of the same mass are moving at the same velocity at the point of impaction."

"They bounce off?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders. The damn dress strap tried to run away again. She pulled it up, momentarily releasing Mycroft's hand.

"No. Both stop."

"Weird." she replied.

"It's simple physics. Sherlock and his opponent are equally matched."

"So you're saying it'll be a draw. Neither of them will win."

Mycroft pressed his thin lips together. "Yes."

John just laughed, and patted her thigh where she kept a knife hidden. In her purse was a gun. A girl could never be too prepared.

"You forgot one thing. Me."

Mycroft only nodded his head and the song stopped. He took a step back and nodded his head.

"Thank you for the dance."

"Pleasure was all mine." she replied and watched the taller and surprisingly more annoying Holmes walk out of the room. She tried to enjoy the rest of the night, but something kept nagging her.

What if she wasn't strong enough to save him this time?

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**Sorry about not uploading in forever. I know I said this was going to be twelve chapters, but now it's just going to be eleven. Sorry! Thanks again for all the favorites and reviews. :) **


	10. Nightmares

10. Nightmares

Sherlock. He was dead. Gone. His body. His limp, cold body was in her arms, his dark eyes wide open in fear, his lips perched in his last words. "John." Hot tears streamed out of her eyes and stung in the cold air. It shouldn't hurt so bad. But it did.

A piece of her heart. A piece of her soul was dead. Gone. With him. The tears continued to fall, faster now. Her chest wrecked in sobs as she pulled his body closer to hers. Dead. Dead.

He couldn't be dead. But he was. She watched the bullet enter him. She had tried to get to him, but she couldn't move. All she was able to do was watch as the blood flowed out of him in an endless river as Moriarty's voice cackled above her.

Dead. Gone. Her Sherlock. Her friend-her only friend. He was gone forever. Dead.

"John." he had said, screamed. Her name. her eyes were burning and her vision failed, but she didn't care.

"John." His voice was haunting her. "John."

Dead. He was dead now.

"John. John!"

Her tears fell on his skin. She wished she could have told him...

"John!"

Her eyes flew open. Everything was clammy and hot. Her thin pajama pants and tank top stuck to her skin with sweat. Tears were flowing down her eyes. She couldn't stop her chest from heaving with each breath. He had been dead. She was holding his dead body just moments ago. John pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

"John." his voice whispered. John opened her eyes barely. In the dark room she could barely see his thin outline as he sat on the edge of her bed.

"I-I'm okay." John said with a shaky voice.

"No, you're not. You were screaming."

"Just..." Her voice broke. She latched onto Sherlock and buried her head into his chest. His muscles tensed. Beneath his tensed muscles, she could hear the steady beating of his heart. He was alive.

Alive.

Slowly, Sherlock put his arms down. John held onto him like a child to its mother. She was not going to let him go. Never.

After a few minutes, Sherlock awkwardly raised an arm and patted her back.

"John."

She stayed silent.

"John."

"What?" she asked.

"I do not know what to do to properly comfort you."

"Just stay still."

"Alright." he said slowly. His arm fell back down at his side.

"Promise me you won't get hurt." John said. He knew what she meant .

"I...John, you know that I could never promise such a thing like that. There are too many variables of what could happen. No one could ever promise something like-"

"Sherlock. Just do it."

"I promise." he said. John smiled. She laid there, warm in his arms, for a few more moments.

"John?"

"What?"

"My legs have fallen asleep."

"Oops. Sorry." John clambered off the consulting detective and laid back down by her pillow. "Night, Sherlock."

"Night."

"Thanks, by the way."

"It was the third time this week. I was worried."

"No need to be worried. I'm fine."

"You're my only friend." Sherlock said in a soft voice. John smiled.

"I know." And that only made it hurt worse-the ache in her heart. She couldn't shake it. Something bad was about to happen. She knew it. And she knew Sherlock knew it too. He was acting different. Nicer, kinder. (As kind as Sherlock got) He kept reminding John that she was his only friend. She just hoped the two survived whatever was going to happen.

Because she was not sure if she could live without her Sherlock Holmes.

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**Wow, it's getting kind of sad/sappy here, isn't it? Oh well, next and finale chapter is coming up, and I bet you guys can all guess what it's going to be about. **


	11. The End

11. The End

The great Sherlock Holmes was gone. She'd never wake up to experiments in the kitchen, or piss in the fridge. She'd never get taken out at ungodly hours to check out a corpse. She'd never run alongside him through the streets of London, on the chase.

The game was done. Finished. He was gone. Dead. Forever. She couldn't believe it. She wouldn't believe it. Even after they opened up his casket to show her that it was his body in it, she still refused to accept the knowledge that he had killed himself. Moriarty must have pushed him off, but there was no Moriarty, or so everyone told her.

They called her loony. They made fun of her walking down the streets. Some wanted her to be thrown in jail for helping the murderer Sherlock Holmes. There were days when she doubted herself. He was real, wasn't he? he could never have made all of that up. He was a genius, and that wasn't something anybody could fake. He was real, and so was Moriarty. There was no telling what happened to that man. He probably killed himself after pushing Sherlock so there would be no way to prove he was real.

When they collided, they both stopped. There was no winner.

Her last blog was a hard one to write. There was so much she wanted to say, and no words to say it with. She wrote it and rewrote it, until one day she wrote a single sentence and posted it. Every day after that, she went back and she read it, and she remembered what the words meant.

"He was my best friend and I'll always believe in him."

She'd never stop believing. No matter how many times she had to make a new email because people were sending her hate mail. No matter how many times she had to scrub the paint off her new flat that always read, "Moriarty was fake."

People were ignorant. Sherlock was right. Something messed up had to be going on in their little heads to be thinking that. Everywhere she looked, she saw things he never really had before. She saw the signs of all the soldiers walking amongst them. She saw the teachers and the divorced men and women, just by looking. Sherlock would have been proud of her, and he would have wanted her to move on, but how was she supposed to do that? Find a guy, get married? No. She was going to prove somehow that Moriarty was real. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to bring honor back to the name Sherlock Holmes.

She was walking down the streets, hobbling on her cane. Damn leg started acting up again, and it was worse than ever before now. She was watching a woman with three children on the other side of the road when she ran into him. He was a tall man, but he had light blond hair and a smile. She couldn't help but feel disappointed. She awkwardly crouched down and helped him pick up his papers.

"I'm so sorry." he said, and he held out his hand, "I'm Marty."

"Jennifer Watson."

His eyes grew wide, and his hand gripped hers tighter. She was about to say something polite, ask him to let go, ask him if she knew him because he might had been an old mate of hers that she had forgotten, and that was always embarrassing, but then he opened his mouth.

"I believe."

"Excuse me?"

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

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**Here we go! Last chapter of The Guy and Gall in 221B! I hope you guys all enjoyed this, and I'm sorry the last few chapters were so short. The plot bunnies have ran away from Sherlock and have randomly found interest in Harry Potter again. So, you might see a new story from me in that fandom! **

**I might continue this, but I am not sure. Thanks once again!**


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